


Bitter Cold

by Padjal_Protector



Series: Tales from the Twelveswood [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Elezen Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 11:43:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20865662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Padjal_Protector/pseuds/Padjal_Protector
Summary: Humble beginnings are nothing out of the ordinary for any story. What should have been another forgettable day sets a tone and a motivation for a young Ishgard-born elezen.





	Bitter Cold

**Author's Note:**

> I'm new to the whole AO3 thing, but it's a nice enough place to plunk down my writing for my WoL now that I've developed him!

Waking up shivering with cold and stiff limbs wasn’t anything new. 

Any child who lived in the Brume could easily tell that particular tale. It was one of uncomfortable sleep, of struggling to doze off despite being bone-tired from the back breaking work and other toils of the day. It was the silent fear in the back of one’s mind that they may not awake the next morning at all. Even when you were huddled with your loved ones for warmth near the pitiful hearth, embers since extinguished, the fear was all too real. Ever since the climate of Coerthas had changed, the grim reality that those less able to deal with it were those without the coin was something to confront them at every turn. 

It was impossible to ignore.

He sneezed, the action jolting the young boy from his less than restful sleep. Van lifted a hand to rub one ice cold hand over his equality frigid nose, brow furrowing with his slow waking. He sat up, posture hunched a little, as though a weight rested upon his lanky shoulders. A shiver ran up him again, and while perhaps he might’ve been tired enough to wish to sleep once more, he couldn’t quite do that. He rubbed his face and pushed his hair back from it, exhaling deeply.  
  
Even something as simple as waking up left him empty. 

Then again, one couldn’t really blame him. It’d only been two weeks, after all. Two weeks since the drafty, cold and dingy room that had once felt far too small for three elezen to live in had been left to him alone. Two weeks since some illness (for which, try as he might, Van hadn't been able to gather enough coin to at the very least lessen the symptoms of), led to his mother’s death. Four months prior to that, an injury during some labor for some Lordling had resulted in his father’s death. Part of Van felt his mother’s decline had been slow and steady since then, as heartbroken as she'd been. After all, his parents had loved each other deeply and never hesitated to show it toward one another. As such, Van had also felt valued and loved despite their circumstances. The small room had felt crowded, sure, but the warmth that had nothing to do with the weather had always been there.

That only made the emptiness worse, now.  
  
It was a roof over his head, for which he should’ve been grateful, but never the less cold and empty. 

When Van finally got himself situated, bundled up as best he could in what layers were available to him of warm clothing, the boy of barely 16 summers began his day well before dawn’s first light. To simply survive, he’d have to use every waking moment to work, as he had alongside his father the minute he’d been old enough to accompany the man. Typically, it had been just doing his best to stay out of his father’s way and help carry things, hold this or that, try to, amid stumbling words, re-read lists and such to him. Van couldn’t say he didn’t get bored sometimes back then, he had, but he understood the necessity.  
  
The best part of things had always been returning home with something to show for the day. It wasn’t always the case of course, some days were a waste while others a relief of enough gil to make it to the next few days. 

And that was how it went. 

Even now, though he’d return home to an empty room aside from himself and whatever small stray cat decided to visit him, Van never found himself looking past the next few days. Not when the ‘now’ had always been so vital. It felt like a luxury to think beyond next week. 

There was always something to be done in the Brume. Always something broken, something in need of repair or replacing, some chores to be done. The problem arose when you had to haggle about how much you’d accept to do the work. It was almost as bad as trying to do work for some lordling or noble who damn near thought the _ honor _ of doing a job for them should be more than enough for some Brume rat. 

Van was, notoriously, not as good at haggling price for his services as his father had been. His father had been sharp eyed and blunt with his words, always feeling he had no need to be shifty or lie when the direct approach would always work best.

_ “If you’re honest, you don’t have to waste time getting the details straight of the lies you’ve spun. Life is too damned short for all that. Leave the stories to minstrels and drunkards.” _

As such, it wasn’t uncommon Van ended up doing more work than he was paid, simply because it wasn’t in him to be abrasive. Though he’d clearly gotten his father’s honesty, he had very much adopted his mother’s kindhearted compassion. It was a terrible mix for a boy trying to survive in the slums, truly. Kind hearted and honest, empathetic and compassionate. Wanting to help others, and quite unable to leave anyone to do something alone if he had the ability to help them. Even if it meant staying a little longer, working a little harder, being paid a little less.  
  
It was taken advantage of, yes. Some might’ve called him a fool and called him stupid for it, but he never once regretted his choices to help. Van couldn’t rightly live with himself if he refused to help when he was able, after all. 

Even so, the boy did feel resentment. It was impossible not to feel, especially when he had to on occasion make his way toward Foundation proper. 

In fact, he felt it presently as he carried a number of parcels in his arms and on his back to deliver on some crafter’s behalf. This was normal enough, it was little better than being a beast of burden for busy weavers and goldsmiths or what have you that were too occupied to deliver frivolous things to their noble clients. Of course, some kid from the slums was cheaper a hire than their own apprentices anyway. 

Van barely felt the strain on his back or how tired his arms felt. It was run of the mill aches, he’d feel them later but for now they were like background noise, distant. Try as he might to push down the feeling that arose in his throat when highborn and nobles passed him by, he couldn’t shake the resentment. The packages he carried were worth so much, custom works that the rich threw their gil at as flights of fancy. He could understand how some had simply taken to stealing these packages, selling them. While Van himself could never bring himself to do it, even if the nobles would scarcely notice, he understood the appeal. 

It was difficult to be near such things worth the amounts that could easily feed a family, clothe children, treat an illness. It was difficult still to keep his gaze downward when he walked, to avoid looking at the passing citizens with their fine clothes and sweet smelling perfumes. It was just as well he kept his eyes downcast, though. You could only see the sneers of your ‘betters’ so many times before it slowly eroded your sense of self. 

A glance to the crumpled parchment in his pocket, directions and the lofty surname of whatever noblewoman the packages belonged to. A few more blocks and the boy arrived, greeted with little more than thinly veiled contempt from the manservant that answered his arrival and took the packages. Without another word to him, of course, just a heavy oak door slammed in his face. 

No matter how many times that particular scene played out, Van always flinched. 

Unburdened now, the boy rubbed his hands together to both get the feeling back in his fingers and maybe warm them, before glancing around. He almost regretted taking on the errand due to how far from the Brume it took him, but that was also why he’d accepted. The elderly craftsman had such a nigh impossible queue of work and no chance to really deliver his goods. The old man had a bad back, and his apprentice was too busy helping him finish orders to deliver himself, so Van had taken on the job. As pitiable a payment as it would earn him, he still took it on.

Shoving hands in his pockets, he started off again. His mind had already wandered, thinking of how best to make up for the time he’d lost on this particular job. He’d eaten the day before, he could truthfully go today without a meal if it meant it gave him some leeway on what he could still accept as work the following day. Such calculations, including what he might still have stored away at home, so took his full attention that he didn’t stop walking until he was forcibly stopped. 

The rough grip to his shoulder took him off guard, nearly taking the boy off his feet. When Van looked over, he was staring up at a stranger, yes, but clearly a noble flanked by two others. He didn’t recognize the crest on the other’s thick, fur lined cloak of course, why would he? Other than the four houses on Ishgard’s crest, he had little to no knowledge of the hierarchy in between.

Van blinked, clearing his throat and frozen to the spot. His instinct was to pull away, but the moment he’d caught sight of those signs of nobility, he just froze. Had this been the Brume, he would’ve wrenched himself free and taken off at a run. As it stood, he wasn’t in the Brume and unless he wanted some peacekeeping knight to chase him down the streets of Foundation, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t move and something about the sneer on the noble’s face told him the other youth _ knew that. _Pale haired and fair skinned, the pair behind him were similar. Perhaps siblings, Van couldn’t tell.

“Just what do _ you _think you’re looking at?” The noble boy’s words were almost melodic in their accent, confidence behind them. 

Van’s eyes were a little wide, then, looking from the boy with the grip still on his shoulder to the pair snickering behind him. He said nothing at first, unsure what he was being asked.

“Look at him, maybe he’s dim.” The shortest of the trio proclaimed, much to the laughter of his kin. 

“Yeah you breathe all that smog all day and it makes you stupid, I hear.” The other added.

Van could feel a mix of anger and shame rolled together, but his gaze stayed on the one who’d stopped him. He wanted badly to twist free and run. To go back, to get as far away from these streets to the ones he was more familiar with. 

“Nothing.” Van hastily blurted it out and his voice cracked, which made a whole new bit of laughter arise from the boys. “I wasn’t looking at anything.” 

It was true enough. So wrapped up in his thoughts of survival, that he didn’t notice anything as he’d been walking. Let alone, did he notice if he’d let his 'Brume rat’ gaze linger on any nobles for more than he should’ve. He was cursing himself, in truth, for not noticing if he HAD done just that. He could’ve been clear back to the Brume by now.

“No, no. I think you were staring. Rudely, in fact, don’t you think brothers?” The lead looked to his siblings for confirmation, of which he got agreeable nods. 

Van felt a lump in his throat.  
  
“I… If I were, it wasn’t on purpose.” He started, stumbling on his words. “I was only leaving-”  
  
Before he could say another word, the grip to his shoulder had gone to his throat. Silenced, his gaze flitted wildly a moment, seeing the pair of brothers moving to block view of what their sibling was doing from any passerby.  
  
“Oh, so now the brume rat’s calling me a liar?”  
  
Van did not like the look in the other’s eyes. He was accustomed to being looked through, but not being fixated upon with such a venomous gaze for no other reason than existing. At least, not so up-close. The cruel look accompanied the abrupt cold press of what had to be the flat of a small dagger’s blade against his cheek. The sensation got Van freezing up all over again, despite every fiber of his being yelling at him to wrench himself free and put distance between them.  
  
Unfortunately, like everything else in his life, in his ‘place’, socially, he had little real recourse but to suffer it and whatever else may come. All it would take would be a word from any noble he’d robbed them or something to result in a worse fate. 

“Awful rude, no manners. Not only gawking at my brothers and I, but to lie directly to my face. Worse yet, imply I’m lying.” A sneer which slowly morphed to a devilish smile. “I’m damn near wounded, you know? A noble’s word is worth more than gold.”  
  
Van felt the tension prickling up the back of his neck and the longer this little conversation went on the more he fought back the urge to tremble. It was a mix of fear and shame, certainly, but the fact that the other seemed to just be toying with him left him dangling on a precarious edge of it as sharp as the blade against his face. 

One abrupt motion and he might lose an eye. 

Van wrestled his words free of the lump in his throat long enough to utter, rather pitifully, a few of them. “I-b. I beg your pardon.” He said it, his voice on the edge of trembling. “I meant no offense.” It almost hurt to say these things, knowing full well he’d done little to warrant having to apologize. Yet, if it would let him continue on his way, he would say them.  
  
He fought back a grimace. “I know my place.” 

The words, while they were pulled from him at the cost of whatever pride or shame still resided in him, brought such laughter to the trio. Like it was a game, a show, and Van the fool though his only crime had been crossing paths with them by chance. If not him, then some other soul might be in his shoes.

Van’s gaze was downcast, not daring to look the other in the eye, not now, not when doing so might just give the other an excuse to prolong this little interlude. He couldn’t, however, deny the near jolt from shock that he felt suddenly as the blade’s sharp edge made itself known against his cheek. From jaw to cheekbone, agonizingly slowly, the blade bit into flesh deeply. The bleeding was instantaneous, he felt the sting of the now open wound meeting air but he forced himself to stay still. Again, a brash movement could gouge an eye or land the blade in his throat for all he knew.  
  
“...and this will help you never to forget it.” The words that came were cold, but with that tinge of amusement. 

When the blade came away, it was briefly ‘cleaned’ off against Van’s own clothing before being pocketed away. The grip finally left his throat, leaving the boy gasping for breath he’d been holding. Van staggered slightly, a half step backward, dropping his gaze all over again, not risking looking to the others, looking down at their boots. 

Another laugh, one of them yawned, the eldest finally stepping away.  
  
“I’m bored again. Let’s go.”  
  
And just like that, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, nothing of import, they left. Van didn’t move until he was completely certain he’d lost the sound of their footfalls and voices.  
  
Clapping part of his scarf to his cheek, he turned and took off at a brisk pace. Not running, not wanting to call attention to himself, just wanting to get away. His heart still pounded in his ears with every step, the stinging of the wound nowhere near as biting as the stinging behind his eyes. Eyes which he kept downcast the entire way back to the Brume.

Once he was home, he let those frustrated tears fall though they only hindered his work to get the wound cleaned and patched as best he could with no actual supplies. While he did so, the dark colored little stray that often visited their home, had worked it’s way into the room again and on silent little paws, situated himself in Van’s lap. Without thinking, Van picked up the feline, and gathered him into his coat. It was still cold, the night would only be colder, but the soft, purring presence of the creature was a welcome comfort. He wanted to smile, at least a little, but he was exhausted. He was forlorn, he was bone-tired of Ishgard and everything in it.  
  
The cut was going to scar. It wasn’t like he could afford to buy anything or get a chirurgeon to look at it so it didn’t scar as badly as it would otherwise. He’d just have to live with it, like everything else.

The cat mewled gently and pushed his head up under Van’s chin, pulling him from his thoughts. Despite himself, finally, the boy smiled softly, scratching up under the little cat’s chin.  
  
“I’m going to leave Ishgard someday.” He said it in a firm, gentle tone. Resolute. “I don’t know how, but I’m going to.”  
  
Saying it out loud maybe, would make it more solid. Make it happen, someday. He’d have to work three times as hard to manage it, and maybe it wouldn’t happen for a few years, but he would do it. If Ishgard didn’t want him, and nothing here was holding him, why should he stay? He didn’t want Ishgard, either. 

“You can come with me, if you’d like.” He teased at the little feline, knowing full well that strays were flighty, they’d be there one day, gone the next. Much like any friend in the Brume. There one day, found frozen on the street the next, and no one batting an eye.

It was fine. 

Van would leave Ishgard behind one day, for better things, and for once the boy was thinking past simply ‘tomorrow’. 


End file.
